Take this Regret
by Meandrina
Summary: Draco and Hermione have stayed at the opposite ends of the spectrum for so long that when the lines fade and harsh reality sets in, neither could have possibly prepared for its repercussions. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well, this is another story that I've thought up. It's going to be at least 3-4 chapters long…and quite a bit darker than my others. Hope you like it. :)**

* * *

Hermione walked slowly towards the end of the corridor, just about to finish with her patrols. Her giggling Hufflepuff partner had long disappeared, giving the convenient excuse of some essay that had to be turned in the next day.

She had to admit that it was getting way too obvious to be classified as simply unusual. All her prefect partners had started deserting her this year in the middle of their patrols. In fact, the only ones that she could get to stick around were the fifth years, that too of her own house. Every single one of them had coughed up some vague excuse or made it seem like some kind of emergency had cropped up and then they'd left her to finish the rounds all by herself.

She theorised that it might have something to do with her blood status. Come to think of it, ever since Voldemort's publicised return, all the purebloods in the school save for her friends, had begun to give her the cold shoulder. Did they seek to distance themselves from her simply because of she was a muggleborn? Or did it have something to do with her association with Harry? Did this renewed social segregation signify as the first stirrings of the oncoming war?

It was time for them to sort out their priorities because all it really came down to was who you trusted more. If you were with Dumbledore, you would respect his wishes and stay strong and united. And if you had thrown in the towel by falling for the pureblood propaganda this time around, _again_, then it was obvious that you were rooting for Voldemort. Going by the recent changes, she assumed most people were. It could have been fear that had motivated them to revert back to their elitist values, or maybe her years in Hogwarts had only served as a smokescreen to the perception that had always been there, lurking behind every inviting face: she was really just a mudblood. And she would never belong.

There was nothing like insecurity to mess up one's judgement, and she'd be damned if let this get to her. She was loyal to just one person and that person was Harry.

Turning the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of water pooled over the entire floor, and she groaned as she realized that she was on the second floor and this meant that Myrtle was flooding the toilets again. What could a fifty year old ghost possibly gain from that?

She hiked up her robe to her calves and waded towards the bathroom. Strangely enough, it was locked. Had Moaning Myrtle suddenly gained corporeal abilities?

"Alohomora."

She carefully stepped in and spelled all the taps closed with a flick of her wand.

There was no sign of Myrtle but as she walked forth, she noticed a subtle, whitish glow emanating from the rightmost cubicle. She walked curiously towards it.

Feeling extremely foolish, she knocked at the door.

There was no response, but the glow flickered slightly.

Shrugging, she pushed the door open. Her jaw almost hit the floor at the sight.

Draco Malfoy sat folded atop the toilet seat, sound asleep. His patronus- a falcon- was perched upon his right shoulder. If the sight of Draco Malfoy sleeping inside the cubicle of an unused girls' bathroom wasn't surprising enough, the fact that he could sustain a full-fledged patronus in his sleep really succeeded to put things in perspective for her.

If he could conjure such powerful magic in his sleep, who could tell how truly dangerous he'd become? She'd never been particularly scared of Malfoy; he'd barely been a blip on her radar in the past; but now she didn't know what kind of person he'd turned into. There was a tangible change in his personality now, something more sinister and foreboding in the way he carried himself. For the hundredth time she found herself wondering, was he really a death eater?

There was only one way to be sure.

She bent carefully on her knees, coming to level with his body. With an internal shudder, she realized that this was the first time six years that she'd come in such close proximity with him. _Oh, how the mighty have fallen._

She took a moment to study his face. He was pale, paler than he usually was, and there was an unhealthy grey tinge to his skin. Bruise-like shadows surrounded his eyes, which undoubtedly explained his current state. His face was smooth and relaxed, save for the rapid flickering of his eyelids. His fringe fell in a sweaty curtain over his brow. But nothing could come close to detracting from the raw attractiveness of his features. She'd been aware of it for a while in a vague, cannot-be-ignored sense but now, enclosed in this three by three cubicle with only a patronus for company, his appeal was magnified tenfold.

Gently, she pulled the sleeve of his robe away from his left arm. A gasp escaped her lips as she saw the edge of a black skull engraved over the smooth skin. It was the first time that she'd come face to face with the Dark Mark, and it was enough to send her staggering back against the door.

The falcon vanished, and she stared at the person who'd been her classmate for six years, the one boy who'd bullied and insulted her more than anyone in her life, the boy who was now a Death Eater and was staring at her with an intensity that threatened to singe her skin and burn her down to charred remains.

"Malfoy…" she whispered.

With a rapid blur of movement, he pulled her upwards by the collar and pinned her hard against the door. The look of ferocious rage on his face was unlike anything that she'd seen before.

"You're not fit to utter my name, filth." The dead manner in which he said this was so reminiscent of his father that she shrunk back in horror.

He held her in place with his bare hands, keeping her suspended from the ground. For one agonising minute, she was sure that he was truly capable of killing her, right here in this deserted bathroom.

Mirroring her thoughts, he pushed the door open and flung her towards the ground. She landed in a heap in the freezing water.

"You're going to pay for this, Mudblood." Chilling malice coated his word. "You're going to regret the day you decided to put your filthy hands on me."

He began circling her, seemingly contemplating the most painful and derogatory course of punishment for her, and the pause served her as an opportunity to gather her wits.

She reached for her wand and he almost cracked a smile at the action.

"I was beginning to wonder when you'd catch up with the fact that you carry a wand. Funny, how your actions betray you for what you truly are. Just a worthless little muggle." He flicked his wrist and her wand sailed smoothly into his outstretched fingers.

She was disarmed, both literally and figuratively. Wandless magic. In all these years, she'd only witnessed Dumbledore performing it.

Now, she felt the initial burst of fury inside her gut. The little snake. The least he could do was duel her and do it on fair grounds! How dare he stand and gloat when she was obviously at a disadvantage here?

"Your master seems to have taught you some tricks, ferret. You want a medal for the accomplishment?" she stared into his eyes, "But you already have it, don't you? That cattle brand you seem to be flaunting on your arm. It must've hurt like a bitch. Your mother should be proud."

His lips tightened.

He pointed his wand at her face, and in that instant, she knew it. She knew it in her gut that he was going to use the _Cruciatus _curse on her. He was capable of doing it and any second now, he was going to do it.

She thought of Alice and Frank Longbottom in St. Mungo's, driven mad from the torture of Bellatrix's wand. She'd read of it, she'd heard of it and she'd barely escaped from it last year upon their refusal to submit to Umbridge. She hadn't been half as afraid as she was now but for the life of her, she couldn't stop her arms from trembling. Would she end up in another bed at the ward in St. Mungo's, delirious from the abuse of Malfoy's wand?

Something flickered in his eyes as he watched her. It might have been pity.

He muttered something and she felt a powerful Body-bind curse take hold of her entire body. It rattled her teeth from the impact, so she knew it was no ordinary _Petrificus Totalus._ It was not going to wear off on its own.

He supplemented the ordeal by performing a Disillusionment Charm over her. It must be something akin to a signature move, she mused, freezing his opponents and then rendering them invisible. Well, at least she'd stopped trembling.

He loomed over her invisible body.

"My mother is dead." He said unemotionally. "Let's see how long it takes for your boyfriends to find you."

He walked towards the door without a backward glance but he paused at the threshold.

"You've chosen the losing side, Granger. I hope you're aware of that."

And then he was gone.

Well, _that_ might just be the statement of the century. If he really thought of her as a worthless muggle, how could he feel that she'd ever been in a position to choose?

* * *

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Telling Harry was the first thing that she did. He'd found her inside the bathroom six hours later with the help of the Marauder's Map, immediately demanding for the details. She told him everything, silently marvelling at the way he didn't once try to impress upon her about how he'd told them all so. He didn't have to. It was glaringly obvious now. What was surprising was that none of the teachers had seemed to have caught wind of the fact that a Death Eater was currently roaming freely about the castle, armed with a mysterious agenda.

"Should we talk to Dumbledore?" she asked him, long after the side effects of the spell had worn off and she was feeling marginally like herself again.

Harry's jaw had ticked steadily for the entire time that she'd conveyed the events which had taken place inside the bathroom.

"Not yet." He bit out, surprising her. "I want to catch the son of a bitch red-handed. And then I want to teach him a lesson."

_Well, there he goes with the hero complex._

"I know what you're thinking, Hermione." He said, "But I still want to figure out what he's up to. Now, more than anything. And when I have him where I want him, I'll make him wish he had never crossed paths with me."

She shook her head.

"You're not thinking straight, Harry. He's different. He's...dangerous. He's not for us to handle. Dumbledore will tell us what to do and we shouldn't waste more time."

"I've talked to him before! Didn't I tell you what he'd said? He doesn't care!"

"But we have the proof we need! He has taken the Mark."

"If you want to go and tell him, Hermione then by all means, go ahead. But you'll be wasting your breath. Dumbledore is not and will never be concerned about Draco Malfoy."

* * *

She drew an agitated hand through her hair, finally at her wits end as she stared down at his elegant penmanship. A week had passed since the incident and she was coming to terms with the fact that Draco Malfoy was no longer behaving like he was supposed to. The pale, pointy faced bully of her childhood had disappeared, leaving a cold hearted bastard in his place.

This evening, she'd finally decided to confront him. He was still in possession of her wand and she had to admit that walking around without one was not in her best interest these days. She'd barely stumbled through her classes, had made far-fetched excuses if someone happened to notice her wandless state, but for some reason she hadn't been able to confront him and ask for it. Maybe it was because of the undisguised hatred that shone through his eyes each time he happened to look at her, maybe it was because how her own skin broke into goose bumps whenever he walked past, or maybe it was simply because he was a solitary bird these days. A week ago she'd never have found it easier to approach him when he was surrounded by a gaggle of rude Slytherins, but now she did.

So, she had settled for the next best alternative.

She'd owled him. It had been a simple note.

_Malfoy,_

_Please return my wand._

_-HG_

He'd been quick to respond, and equally to the point.

_Mudbloods do not deserve wands._

Enclosed inside the envelope was her wand, neatly snapped into two pieces.

She ruminated for hours, thinking for the best reply to send him. _'Death Eaters deserve death, Malfoy.' or 'Go to hell, Malfoy.' _or _'You're a pasty-faced, sorry-ass git, Malfoy.'_ simply didn't seem appropriate.

She sighed, and had to concede to the fact that staying away from him was probably the best option. She would simply have to buy a new one.

It was nine o'clock, so she decided to head for the library while there was still time.

He materialized the instant she turned the corner. She couldn't help it, she screamed. But he was quick with his reflexes as he clapped one hand over her mouth, restraining her with his other arm. She tried to struggle the best she could, but in vain. His arm was an iron band across her ribs, and his lips were set in a menacing scowl.

"Stop with the dramatics, Granger. It doesn't become you."

The sound of his voice made her freeze.

_Oh Merlin_. How had she found herself in this position again? What was he going to _do? _

He jabbed the end of his wand into her lower back and gave her a push. Not having to be told twice, she started walking.

When they came to a halt in front of an old classroom, he pushed her inside and locked the door non-verbally.

Her heart was beating like a jackhammer inside her ribs. She stared as he silently moved around the room, swathed in black, shutting all the windows and laying down silencing wards. She couldn't move, couldn't speak.

When he was done, he finally looked at her. Coming to stand in front, he took off his robe revealing the white shirt and dark trousers underneath. They seemed custom made, expensive. The material skimmed over the hard lines of his body and she absently noted that he seemed to have grown up quite a bit.

His face revealed nothing, as he gestured for her to take a seat. Before she realized what she was doing, she complied. Then she suddenly came to the realization that like a trained dog, she was blindly obeying him. Where was her Gryffindor spirit?

"What do you want, Malfoy?", she spoke, trying to shift some power over to herself, but really just wanting to break the thick silence.

He didn't reply, just settled into a chair himself, directly opposite her. Then he began to fold the cuffs of sleeves. This he did slowly, deliberately, staring into her eyes the whole time. There was an unspecified challenge in his eyes, but refusing to give him the satisfaction, she pulled her eyes away from him and glanced around the classroom. There wasn't much to see, beside dusty, broken furniture and toppled chairs at the far corners, but it was the least she could do in her wandless, powerless state, so she began counting the floorboards.

She didn't how long they sat there in this manner; him trying to stare her down and her steadfastly avoiding his gaze but the longer they sat, the drowsier she became. Gradually she felt her heartbeat slow down, her breath deepened and her mind relaxed.

Just when she decided that this had stretched out long enough and she should just go ahead take a nap while he decided what to do with her-she had no wand anyway-she felt the change in him.

Her eyes snapped around to him, only to find his wand pointed in her face.

"_Legilimens._"

There was no shock of penetration, no piercing agony in her mind, as he waded across her memories, sifting through them with the ease of a hot knife moving through butter.

She realized that it had been his plan all along, to wait till all her guards were down before going in for the kill. Either he wasn't very good at Legilimency, or he had just saved a lot of energy by breaking through her non-existent barriers, but it didn't matter anyway. He had her mind at his disposal now. She had all but handed it to him in a platter.

He skimmed over to their fifth year, when they'd fought with the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, he went through each of their mask-covered faces in excruciating detail, taking in height, width, wand. From there he went to the day Harry had told them about the Prophecy. He went to the times that Harry would disappear off to his special lessons from Dumbledore, and then their whispered conversations that would follow where he'd relay everything to them afterwards.

Dread built up inside her as she realized where he was heading. Finally he came across the memory where Harry was telling her about the Horcruxes, and then over to that evening, as they watched him take a swig of Felix Felicis. He watched Harry come back after his lesson with Dumbledore to tell them about how they had four more Horcruxes to finish. He watched these images intently, rewinding them a couple of times and by the time he was finished, her head was about to tear open with pain. It felt as if a thousand knives were jammed into a single slit, going right through her brain.

Her breath came in shallow bursts and her surroundings swam before her eyes. She was on her knees, face wet with tears as she stared at his shiny, Dragonhide boots.

Resisting the urge to lie down on the stone-cold floor, she gritted her teeth and slowly came to her feet. He was standing completely still, triumph oozing through every pore, his physical countenance the complete antithesis of what she was feeling inside.

She slapped him with all her remaining strength, and the resounding smack fell like music on her ears. He straightened to look at her, and she slapped him again.

As she was going for the third hit, he snatched her wrist from the air and twisted it till she cried out in pain. He looked at her with hate burning like black fire behind his eyes, and she couldn't help but take several steps back.

He advanced on her till her back had hit the wall. In a single swoop of movement he clasped her wrists in a single hand and pinned them high above her head. Driving his free hand into the mass of her curls, he pulled, angling her head in a way that made it impossible for her to look away.

"I admit I'd never planned this, Granger." He spoke. "I had forgotten all about you, but it was you who gave me the idea when you sent that romantic little note. I can't believe I never thought of it. I mean, who better than the Chosen One's know-it-all girlfriend to give me all the information that I need?"

She tried to turn her head away from him but he only increased the pressure.

"I hate you. I'd kill you right now if I could." She hissed.

He grinned, revealing even white teeth before he closed the last remaining distance between them, bringing his body flush with hers. She tried to shrink back as the full weight of the situation hit her.

"Know what I'm going to do, Granger?" He mock whispered. "I'm going to give you a nice little memory. I'll make you remember it, every moment, every day from now on till it's burned to the forefront of your mind, ripe with recollection."

He bent his head.

"And when we meet again, I'll invade your mind like I did tonight and I'll find it there, mine for the taking."

He brought his mouth down on hers in a hard kiss, and her head hit the wall from the impact. He bit her lips, urging them to open and when they did, he swiftly pushed his tongue inside the crevice. His mouth became an unrelenting tornado of a force, stealing her air and ruining everything underneath, making her slowly lightheaded. He pulled back to retrieve his hand from her hair and repositioned it at her jaw, tilting it so that her mouth was levelled directly below his.

She did nothing but take it all in, willing him to be finished, but he seemed anything but. He drew out several agitated breaths before feverishly going in again. Her mind was turning blank; a slight turmoil was the only remnant of the rage that had burned like a white crescendo behind her eyelids just minutes ago. He rocked his hips against hers and she became aware his hardness. The raw sensation that flared inside her made her legs buckle from the implication.

She felt the change in him at her weakness. Suddenly, he was fractionally gentler, his tongue began caressing her mouth from the inside, and his lips moved only to sooth at her skin. He'd been giving, forcing, imposing but now he wanted something back. A response.

She didn't give him one.

It took lesser time than it had before for him to rapidly fall back on his anger at her refusal. He bit, sucked, bruised and drew blood. Her blood in his mouth seemed to bring him back to his senses.

He leapt back, staring at her like he'd never seen her before, as both of them struggled to catch their breath.

His mouth twisted into a cruel sneer, and he spat out the blood next to her feet. Then he proceeded to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, the gesture telling her exactly what he thought of her.

"I was never the kid to play in the dirt," he said, straightening his clothes, "but now I know what it tastes like."

He spat again.

Her knees finally gave out, and she fell like string-less puppet to the ground. The slam of the door was the last sound she heard before her senses finally gave up on her.

* * *

Three weeks later, Dumbledore was dead.

* * *

**A/N: Tell me what you think! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

The ground slipped from beneath her feet as the high, cold voice pierced through the roar of the battleground. Beside her she felt Neville go very, very still.

"Oh, Harry…" he whispered.

"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

She couldn't look away, her mind had gone completely numb as she stared at the lifeless body of Harry Potter lying limply in Hagrid's arms.

It couldn't be. It was not possible. Surely, there had been some mistake. She willed him to respond, to open his eyes, show her that he was alive and that by some crazy stroke of luck, he'd managed to fool Voldemort into believing him dead.

Professor McGonagall's agonised scream brought her out of her reverie. It was true. It had happened. Neither could live while the other survived. The gloating, snake-like face which swam before her eyes was proof enough. She screamed, unable to accept this. It wasn't how it was suposed to be.

But it was drowned inside the uproar that had risen again. While she'd been standing there, numb to the core, the battle had resumed with a renewed vigour. Hordes of centaurs were now runing amok, armed with bows and spears, their hooves stampeding over the brittle ground of Hogwarts. An entire army of elves had broken out of the castle, knives, ladles and sticks in their hands. Grawp swatted angrily at the Death Eaters and students alike, confused by the activity around him. So many people, so many faces, and not a sign of red hair. She stumbled through the crowd, through the mess and the carnage, trying to get to Harry.

Hagrid was sitting at the far end of the courtyard beneath a crumbling pillar. His eyes were trained on Harry's face. His own was shining with tears, but he wasn't crying.

She bent on her knees beside Harry's body.

"'e's alive."

She looked up into Hagrid's face, expecting to see crazed grief mingled with denial. She wanted to say '_Shut up' _it was on the tip of her tongue. But she paused as she saw genuine amazement in his eyes.

She looked at Harry's still face. He wasn't breathing.

"'e's still warm. I could feel it when I carried him down here. See for yerself, 'Mione!"

Pressing her fingers against his neck, she felt for his pulse. It was feeble, but it was there. She instantly stomped down the burst of elation that bloomed inside her chest.

Well.

This was going to get tricky.

"Did Voldemort hit him with the killing curse?"

"Yes! That's why I'm—!"

"Hagrid, we've been extremely lucky that nobody has managed to glance this way yet. I think he's alive but I'm not sure for how long. Right now we have to get him away from everybody's sight as soon as possible. Can you do that?"

"I've got his cloak. 'ere!"

"Great!"

She draped it over his body.

Hagrid picked him up effortlessly into his arms. She came to her feet slowly, trying to look inconspicuous but nobody seemed to paying them any attention.

"Take him to the Headmaster's office. And this is very important Hagrid. _Nobody _should see. I'll meet you there as soon as I can."

She watched him as he walked away, sticking to the sides, away from the raging war. She glanced around, wondering what Voldemort was up to and saw him standing ten feet away just in the process of raising his wand, aiming it towards Molly Weasley…

"_Protego!"_

The shield shot from her wand and she physically felt the chill that came to engulf her, as she became the sole focus of Voldemort's gaze.

It was like a bucket of water thrown over her head.

His lipless mouth stretched into a wide smirk and he moved to aim the wand towards her.

She was frozen by the shock, confusion and fear that came to assault at her in a massive tidal wave. Shock at herself for having landed herself in Voldemort's direct line of fire. Confusion about why he was still alive with his last battered fragment of soul, while Harry seemed to be fighting for his life, with a soul that was whole and entire.

Fear for her own dear life.

"_Avada Kedavra."_ He said simply.

There was a flash of green light. A loud crack followed by silence.

She fell to the ground, the impact hard on her head.

As she stared at the early morning sky above her, she came to the gradual awareness that she was still alive. For now. Wasn't death from the killing curse supposed to be instant and painless? Where was the tunnel? All her senses could attest to the fact that she had not died. She could feel blood beneath her fingers, smell the smoke in the air, and she could hear the deafening silence that surrounded her in that instant.

Groaning, she came to her feet.

Everything had seemed to have come to a standstill around her. Their eyes were trained to something on the ground. She glanced down at it.

And shrunk back in revulsion.

It was the single most terrible thing that she'd seen in her life. A ghastly shrivelled up, shrunken body—like a person had aged a hundred stuck inside the confines of an infant's form. It was horrible. Its face was small and ugly, the features distorted, skin oozing a greenish exudate and there was a distinct serpentine quality to it. A musty, rotten odour emanated from it. It was what remained of Lord Voldemort. An abomination.

"Hermione!"

Ron broke out of the crowd, his shout breaking everyone out of their stupor.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine." She stepped away from the thing. "Do you think he's dead?"

Suddenly, everyone around them seemed to be repeating the same question, over and over again.

"I don't know—and I'm not about to touch it to make sure," Ron said.

* * *

They ran, leaving the rest of the Order with the responsibility of Voldemort's carcass. She'd tried to explain the situation to Ron on their way, but she knew he hadn't heard anything she'd uttered after the words 'Harry's alive'. They were breathless by the time they reached the broken stone gargoyle leading to the Headmaster's office.

"Ron, I think one of us should go up and the other should fetch Madam Pomfrey."

He stared at her.

"I'll go." He said at last, "You go up and keep an eye on him."

"No," she said after a beat. "I'll find her. I have to make a quick trip to Snape's private storeroom."

"Blimey Hermione, d'you really think this is the time—," he began but she waved him off, running as fast as her legs could carry her.

She ran towards the infirmary. It was nearly full when she burst in, but she couldn't spot her anywhere.

"Hermione, what are you-?" Ginny called out to her.

She cut her off. "Have you seen Madam Pomfrey?"

"She was with Neville the last time I saw.."

"Where?"

"Third bed from the last-"

"Thanks!"

She hurried towards the bed. Drawing the curtains apart with a hasty swish, she came face to face with Neville. But he didn't look like Neville at all. His hair seemed to have completely burnt off, but luckily his scalp had been spared. The tips of his ears were singed red from where the burning Sorting Hat had come in contact.

"Neville.."

"Hermione! Oh Merlin—you're alive! I couldn't believe my eyes. How did you do it? How did you kill him?!"

"I'll explain everything later." She turned to Madam Pomfrey who was in the process of preparing a thick syrupy lotion. "Miss Pomfrey, you need to come with me immediately."

"I can't leave all these children, dear. Why don't you help us here in the Infirmary? Heaven knows I could do with another pair of hands.."

"There's no time!" she fairly shouted. She took a deep breath to calm herself, before continuing in a low voice, "It's Harry. We think he's alive, but he doesn't have much time. You have to help him."

Neville shot out of the bed faster than a bullet.

"Where is he?"

"Headmaster's Office." She turned to the head nurse. "Please go with him."

"Certainly…Miss Granger," she put a hand on her chest, trying to calm herself. "Mister Longbottom, please fetch my Healing kit. And do carry this with you if you must come with me. You have to apply it as soon as you can." She handed him the flask containing the liquid.

"No one should know, Neville." She called after them, "We can't risk it!"

He nodded.

She didn't waste any more time. She ran towards the part of the castle where she remembered Snape's private quarters to be. The castle looked foreign to her now. The magic seemed to have been sucked right out from the walls. Gaping holes in the ceiling threw jagged streams of light upon the remains of the corridors. The paintings were bare, with no sign of their inhabitants. An ugly thought came to her mind as she ran past the masked faces of the Death Eaters who hadn't vacated the castle yet. One would expect them to flee now that their master was gone..

The seventh floor corridor was silent and empty, perpetually unaffected by the happenings inside the rest of the castle, just like it had been all these years. She clasped her wand tightly in her right hand. The sycamore wand with the thestral hair core had worked quite satisfactorily over the months, but it didn't feel quite hers. It was like a prosthetic limb, perfectly attuned to her will, but not really a part of her.

She entered Snape's private stores and got to work. The walls were over fifteen feet high, filled to the brim with vials full of unfamiliar liquids. To her intense grief, she realized that they were arranged in no particular order. She would have to rely on memory alone-

Suddenly a chill swept through the small room and the hair at the back of her neck stood up on their ends. Her senses fired rapidly at her brain, urging it into action but her limbs were frozen. Something awful was going to happen, but she was unable to move.

Two hands gripped her shoulder firmly, and she exhaled. She didn't have to turn to see who it was; she could recognize him by his hands alone. They were warm, heavy on her skin; but not gentle, never gentle.

He turned her body towards him. She resisted for a fraction a second, before slowly coming to face him.

The last time she'd seen him, he'd been standing impassively beside his father, watching as his mad aunt tortured the life out of her. He looked impeccable as ever, a little taller than she'd last seen him, and there was a crazy little glint in his eye. His lips were parted as he stood staring at her, taking in every detail of her appearance. She was suddenly, absurdly conscious of the streaks of dirt that probably decorated her face.

And yet there was no sign of mourning one would expect to be present on the face of a loyal Death Eater.

"You could have been killed." He said, without preamble.

She stared blankly up at him.

"What does it matter to you?"

"I thought you were smarter than Potter. Turns out you're just like every other idiot Gryffindor."

She gritted her teeth.

"What do you want Malfoy?," she said. Unbeknownst to him, time was running out. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for you."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

He didn't say anything. His eyes had locked onto something at her hip. She glanced down to see the twin fragments of her Vinewood wand poking out of the pocket of her jeans. She'd carried them stupidly around so she could pretend that it was her old wand lying safely in her pocket, always a part of her.

"Sometimes, Mudblood, you're just too cute for words."

He reached out, and she swiftly drew back, startled by the sudden movement. He gave her a wide smirk, eyes lighting up in amusement, and she could pretend just for one moment that he was the same old Malfoy..

He pulled the pieces out of her pocket, hands lingering at her waist. Setting the pieces on a small table by his right, he pulled his wand out from its holster.

She stared at it.

_Impossible._

Pointing towards the broken wand, he muttered, "_Reparo._"

Hermione watched, with paralyzing horror, as they sealed together with a flash of bright red sparks.

"There you go. As good as new."

Unable to believe her eyes, she just stared down at the wand in his hand.

Wand of Destiny. The Deathstick. _The Elder Wand. _In Draco Malfoy's hand.

He noticed the direction of her gaze.

"Yeah. Fucking half-breed, fancied himself the conquering master. I stole it from the old loon's grave long before he even got to figure it out. But I had to keep it hidden away. Anyway…that's a thing of the past. Good thing now it's in the hands of its rightful owner." He caressed the ridges affectionately. "Happy now, aren't you, my sweet?"

The tip of the wand glowed white, as if in affirmation.

"How did you—"

He tapped at his head with his wand. "I know things Granger. Just like I know you seem to have been working on your Occulumency. Reckon that's going to save you, though?"

She took several steps back till her back had hit the wall.

His eyes were blazing as he watched every shift of her body.

"Come with me." He said softly, "It's going to be a new world. A brand new order of things. Your kind is not going to stand a chance otherwise. So, come with me."

She stared up into his cruel face.

"Or you could decide to make this difficult for yourself. Here I am, asking you nicely. You don't want me to stop being nice, do you Mudblood?"

Oh God. This was worse, so much worse.

She recalled the cluster of Death Eaters she'd seen on her way here. The masked faces..the whispered words..the way no one had as much as lifted a finger to attack her. How none of them had had paid any heed to Voldemort's broken shell after he fell. It all made sense. They had come prepared, anticipating for his death, as they'd stood waiting for a signal from their true Commander.

He stepped towards her, his expression harmless, but she knew what lay behind those deceptive grey eyes. She could recall, in excruciating detail, how he'd spat on her feet, wiping the taste out of his mouth afterwards.

He was close. A pale hand came up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Her heart thundered in her ears.

Something had got to give.

"Kiss me," she said.

Surprise washed over his face. His pupils flared wide, and with a low growl he captured her lips hard with his own.

Slowly, without alerting him to the movement, she reached for her Vinewood wand lying on the table and grasped it firmly in her free hand. Pointing it at his back, she drew back a fraction. Confusion mingled with lust registered on his face.

"_Stupefy." _She whispered.

A flash of red and he fell motionlessly to the ground, bringing the table down with him.

"_Petrificus Totalus."_ She uttered, for good measure.

"_Accio _Invigoration Draught, _accio _Strength Potion, _accio _Draught of living Death." She could only hope that one of these would be the solution.

Wasting no time, she rushed out of the claustrophobic room not sparing a single glance to the still body of Draco Malfoy. It occurred to her, as she ran down the flights of stairs, that she hadn't once thought of returning the favour, even when she'd had every chance.

She should have snapped his wand into two.

This mistake might cost her life in the future. But she refused to dwell on the thought for too long. This wasn't the time for it. Right now, it was all about saving Harry's life.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, for the sake of the plot, Draco is the rightful owner of the Elder Wand, as I don't think Harry's forcibly snatching the Hawthorne wand from his hands counts as **_**disarming**_** him of the Elder wand. But that's just me. :P**

**Please do tell me what you think!**

**Edit: Thanks to DreamsofEternalBliss for pointing out the mistake! Righted it now! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

"The unit has been dispatched to Great Hangleton. The one at Aberdeen awaits for your command," said one of the former Death Eaters, now better known as the Guardians.

Draco waved an impatient hand at the man, keeping his gaze locked on to the mirror in front of him, "Keep it clean. We don't want any of their filthy bloodhounds on our backs."

_Conceited little fucker._

He smiled, and turned towards the Blue robed Guardian who was just heading towards the door.

Raising his wand, he said, "A bit of vanity never harmed anyone. Ignorance though…ignorance can be downright dangerous. _Crucio_."

He fell to the carpeted floor with a low thud, body bowstringing in a taut position, neck muscles spasming with a pain so intense, he couldn't even scream.

Draco ignored him.

He didn't like these handing out these idle punishments. He didn't even care what this little army of orphaned followers really thought him. They were simply tools for his operations, to be used, sharpened and discarded when the need be. But he had no patience for disrespect.

Moving silently about the room in contemplation, he finally took a seat on the high-backed armchair and refocused on the mirror ahead, which he realized he was quickly getting addicted to. He saw himself seated in this very seat, in the prime of his youth, smiling back at himself through the reflection. And he saw her perched on his right, dressed royally in a floor length hunter green dress. She was whispering kisses behind his ear, caressing his chest with one hand while the other was entwined in his own.

He held in the shiver that rose in him, and he could almost feel her as he closed his eyes.

She was everywhere.

He had never particularly been fond of anything inside Hogwarts. Even the blasted Room of Requirement was nothing but a symbol of all that he had endured and all that he had lost. His boyhood, his freedom, his mother. He'd stumbled onto this little artefact only by accident. The Mirror of Erised—of desire.

On the night of the battle, he'd been fairly surprised to witness what he had inside the reflection, and the discovery had only cost him his pride. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. After all that, he wanted her. _A mudblood._ Confused by this revelation, he'd gone looking for her. And the little vixen had thwarted him with a rejection so absolute, it was almost funny. The manner was not lost on him either, and it had been a slight giveaway though he was sure it was not meant to be one.

She'd kissed him.

And it had been no sealed lips, closed body business either. It was a proper kiss, almost as proper as the one he'd stolen so long ago inside that deserted classroom. He should've known then that it would ultimately culminate to this.

He'd sent his men to search for her, he'd looked inside every nook and cranny of the wizarding world that held even a hint of magical concealment, he had the Ministry beneath his golden thumb but the overpaid fools had yet to prove a Knut's worth to him. He had taken to muggle manslaughter in hopes that she would come out, even though he'd always maintained the opinion that it was a wasteful practice. He knew many saw him as a resurrected Voldemort, the next mass-murderer in line, and he resented this view they had of him. He was not a fool. And he was not some half-blood fraud, seeking to subconsciously validate his own filthy blood by propagating the idea of a Pureblood society.

Filth was a menace, but it could be easily handled if one knew the right methods. He sought no contact from muggle world. The world of magic held no need for them, so he didn't see the point in causing an unnecessary turmoil by associating with the magically-challenged. Let them contend with their own little toys and crude cultural ideologies. They were a different race, and just naturally inferior.

Mudbloods, though. He wanted them shamed. He wanted them out in the streets, rotting in whorehouses and gutters, begging for scraps of food and for cloth on their backs, he wanted them to feel the humiliation that a Squib suffered from being robbed off their magic. Mudbloods had no place in the Wizarding world and if they wanted one, it had to be beneath them. He had begun shaping the world around him as time passed, but he knew he had a long way to go. Not until he snuffed the resistance out.

They had formed a strong resistance against him. Though it wasn't clear if they were against him or against what remained of Voldemort's followers; he was aware that he was yet to reach a point where they began taking him seriously; and he had a feeling most of them didn't really know who they were fighting for, but they'd been as aggravating in their skirmishes as ever, as brutal and cold-blooded as his own men…almost as if Potter—

"Son."

He blinked out of his reverie and saw his father standing to the right, looking every inch the proud parent. He had been his meagre support system since Voldemort's fall, and had served him with a loyalty that had not been reserved for his erstwhile master.

"I assume you acquired a worthy collection?", he asked.

"The very best." Lucius beamed. "Well, as worthy as their kind can ever be."

With a snap of his fingers, an elf walked in followed by three young women, all muggle. They were naked. Sometime during their stay, they'd been bathed and groomed.

He scrutinized them for a long while, and then sighing in resignation, pointed towards the one on the left.

"This one will do."

The selection was accompanied by a frantic pounding of his heart, as he let his imagination run wild. He was barely aware of the elf leaving with the remaining girls, barely aware of his father as he watched his son impassively. He made the necessary tweaks in her appearance. Her brow lengthened, her lips became fuller, hair wilder and more vivid in colour. Her skin darkened to a honey tint and her fingernails were shortened to the length he remembered hers to be.

He left her eyes as they were, hazel and completely different in their shape. All his previous attempts at transfiguring them to perfection had only ended in disappointment. He could never get them right.

Now, for one tiny detail. He clasped her arm, stomping down on the burst of revulsion that rose at the contact. With a wave of his wand, bloody engraved letters broke across her skin. _Mudblood._

A gasp of pain escaped from the girl's lips.

"Hush."

He snapped his fingers, and another elf appeared.

"Escort her to my chamber."

The elf bowed and left, taking the girl's hand.

He sighed deeply, and walked towards the mirror. Staring at her reflection for another moment, he draped a sheet over the image, covering it.

He'd been wrong earlier. He supposed muggles did have their uses.

* * *

_At Shell Cottage  
8 PM._

Healer Bayard hovered over the bed, performing the standard checks on Harry's still body. He pursed his lips as he noted down something on the file, before tiredly rubbing his eyes and looking at her.

"I'm afraid I have no good news to convey to you Miss Granger. His condition is stable and the same. Although I'm still in the process of devising a spell that should tell me what exactly is going on inside his body, all I can tell you at this point is that he's in a magical stupor, the equivalent of a muggle coma. But you already know that."

She looked back at Harry's face, trying to subdue the waves of grief that were lapping at her soul. It was five months since the battle of Hogwarts, and she had yet to see the sparkling green of his eyes. Healer Bayard was the best chance they had, and she trusted him, but her hope was slowly dying.

After escaping from Hogwarts, she and the remaining of the Order hadn't known what to do with Harry. Madam Pomfrey had told that his state was beyond her healing expertise and understanding, and that he was in need of immediate medical attention, preferably at St. Mungo's, but she couldn't risk that. So they had Apparated to Shell's Cottage, which was now serving as their temporary headquarters. For months they had called upon the services of various Healers, almost jeopardizing the secrecy of the place, but they had yet to prove deceitful. They hadn't proved all that competent either, until they'd sent Healer Bayard who had run his own diagnostics and thrown some light on the situation.

"This is very rare, and something not commonly encountered in the magical world," he'd said gravely, "A normal person is not bodily equipped to counter the force that is packed inside the Killing Curse, no matter what magical protections he or she has been subjected to. The architecture of the body does not sanction its own spontaneous arrest, it has to be done through force. Harry has had to withstand this force not one, but two times. And it seems to have sent him into a stupor."

This also explained why she felt so physically weak all the time, having been subjected to Voldemort's curse, and having survived it because of Harry's protection.

"But will he ever come out of it?" she asked.

"Alas, that is beyond the realm of Healing, and you will have to look for the answer in the magical basis of it. As for his body, it's presently stable and functioning adequately, but I cannot tell when he will come to. I will regularly come to check on his state, but only time will tell."

She finally bid the elderly Healer farewell and came to sit by Harry.

"Where are you?" she asked him softly and for the millionth time, willing him to respond.

"Please come back to us. We miss you so."

She lightly traced his scar with her finger.

"Yaxley's dead. George killed him yesterday. Rowle was captured too. We're still trying to figure out what to do with him, though. With Kingsley gone over for his muggle obligation, we don't really have anyone who seems up for the questioning. D'you reckon Bill would be up for it?"

"Ginny's well, if you must know. She's finally started eating her favourite Shephard's pie. Ron is…getting by. I think Luna comforts him, who would've thought, right?" she shook her head, smiling.

"I got an owl from Professor McGonagall yesterday. She's trying to hold Hogwarts by the seams. Filch quit. Can you imagine that? And the Carrows are still there, so I don't think a visit to the library sounds safe at this time. I should've asked her to mail some texts over to us, but we don't really know what we're looking for…"

Her voice broke towards the end.

"Harry…come back to us."

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see it was Ron.

The war had taken a toll on him. His blue eyes that used to shine so vibrantly in the summer were now dimmed with suffering.

"What news?", he asked.

"The same."

He sighed heavily and came to sit on the other side of Harry.

"It makes me so…angry. What does that Ferret really _want_?"

She knew what he wanted, but she didn't want to disclose it to Ron. She'd felt his want back in the small store that night, had seen the angered betrayal flash across his face before she'd Stunned him. She knew he would stop at nothing to have her, and she couldn't give him the satisfaction.

She operated behind closed doors, laid down the framework of their plans and missions, did meticulous research, tended to Harry and cooked for them. Staying back at the sidelines was not in her nature, but her current predicament warranted her lack of active participation. What's more, her physical health was far from being up to scratch.

In addition to all of this, she had to endure the nightmares. _He_ starred in nearly all of them, haunting her dreams and plaguing her reality. He whispered tantalizing invitations, hissed insults in her face, and chased her down in the confines of her own minds, only to utter '_mudblood'_ when he finally caught her.

He was everywhere.

She could see the world changing around her as time passed, and every time they issued an offensive mob, something had seemed to have altered in the surroundings. The muggleborne population was being hoarded out of their residences and sent off to unnamed places. Children were being uprooted from their homes, half bloods were being interrogated, muggles were being tortured and killed. She hated him for it, for corrupting her world as she knew it to be, for carrying out his threat and in such an inhuman way, as if he were trying to send her a derogatory message, fulfilling some long forgotten prophecy..

She blinked.

The Prophecy.

Blinking rapidly in astonishment, she put a hand to her lips. Why hadn't she thought of it before?

She tried to recall what she remembered of it from what Harry had told them.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..._"

"Ron.." she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"What happened to Voldemort's body afterwards?"

"Dunno…probably left to rot around somewhere. Why?"

"No Ron…I—I think it was still alive. _He _was still alive. I'm pretty sure Malfoy and his goons took it back with them."

Ron's eyes bulged. His mouth moved wordlessly for a while, before he finally came to his senses.

"So..what now?" he asked, grim determination in his voice.

"I need you to arrange for a meeting with Professor Trelawney as soon as you can."

* * *

**A/N: Huehuehue. Slight cliffy there, but I wanted to stretch it out to five chapters.**

**Please tell me what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Ostentatious.

It was the first word that rang through Hermione's mind as she stood outside the Malfoy Manor, at the other side of the looming wrought iron gates. The air was different here. It smelled conservatively clean and filthy rich; in stark contrast to the putrid alleys of the rest of the magical world. The yew hedges stood almost two times as tall as her, growing straight ahead on the either side of the driveway, gently curving around the twin magical fountains. It was dark—a few hours after dusk—and the chilly air made her draw the cloak closer to her body.

It seemed like ages since she'd stood at this very spot with the mother of all adrenaline rushes coursing through her veins and a wand jammed tightly into her carotid, but it had only been seven months. She hadn't had much time to admire the scenery then, but now she did.

Majestic, intimidating but not overly so, classy, _ancient. _The latter was the most impressive of the traits in her estimation, so her overall assessment of the manor from outside was a favourable one, despite the memories associated with it. On the inside though…

Her mind went back to the disconcerting conversation she'd had with the crazy, yet brilliant Seer slash fortune-telling fraud two nights ago inside a seedy pub situated in Knockturn Alley. She'd Polyjuiced herself, of course, but the woman had surprisingly picked her out, owing to her apparent 'lack of aura'. The meeting had been a difficult one, seeing as Sybill Trelawney was perfectly unaware of the Prophecies she'd made in her lifetime, so Hermione had had to walk on eggshells around the woman the whole time.

"_Professor, I need to know certain things. We are in what you call—a sticky situation. And your assistance is of utmost value to us." She took a deep breath. "What happens if a prophecy goes unfulfilled?"_

_Trelawney had given her a look of severe distaste, the best she could manage in all her bug-eyed glory._

"_How utterly simple you are. Surely you must know, dear girl, that all prophecies do eventually get fulfilled. Therein lays the entire foundation of the Sight."_

_She gritted her teeth._

"_Yes, I'm aware, Professor. But what if—for some reason—the means of its fulfilment are compromised in the way? What if the—er—targets of the prediction get incapacitated in some measure, and the prophecy is put on hold? What happens then?"_

_Trelawney coughed delicately, before arranging her shawl around her thin shoulders._

"_I do not entirely understand, my dear. I can, however, sense a sort of dreariness around you. You are thoroughly drenched with it. It appears to me, as if you've strayed quite far from what your soul desperately needs, it has been so very _parched." _She glanced pointedly at her borrowed form. "Beware of gold jewellery._"

_She'd had to take a long, calming gulp of her butterbeer. If it went on like this, she'd get nowhere, so she tried a different tactic._

"_Forgive me if I'm wrong Professor, but is it true that you are the great, great, great granddaughter of the renowned Seer Cassandra Trelawney?"_

"_That is correct."_

"_And that you no longer teach at Hogwarts, and the post of the Divination teacher has been assigned to Firenze the centaur?"_

_She'd puffed up like an angry cat at the mention of the name._

"_Yes, that half-breed horse has taken over the post. The Ministry saw it fit to reinstate the measures prescribed by that odious toad-woman!"_

"_Oh, my condolences, Professor. But don't you think Firenze might be able to help us, given that he's quite accomplished a foreteller himself?"_

_Her wiry hair had seemed to crackle with antagonism._

"_The horse! He wouldn't know a crystal ball from a tea cup! Do not insult me so!"_

_Hermione tried her best to look innocent._

"_That was not my intent, I assure you. I merely wish to know what happens if a prophecy does not get fulfilled."_

_She sniffed._

"_Prophecies always get fulfilled. That is why they are made. They can be reconstructed, reinterpreted, their outcomes delayed and suspended, but eventually they do get fulfilled. The gift of Sight is not subject to the intricacies of human life. And a prophecy does not come with a time period."_

"_So irrespective of the time lost, or the means undertaken, it will ultimately get fulfilled?"_

"_Yes, dear girl. Is that not what I just said?"_

So, it had to be that way. Harry was alive, but barely. So, naturally Voldemort must be surviving somewhere in his own capacity. And though she figured he must be in the state that they'd left him—foul and revolting to the senses—there was only one way to be absolutely sure, and to infuse life back inside Harry's body.

The Order had protested strongly against her going alone, but she'd explained that this was a mission to be completed solely by her; she'd earned it in her own right after months of staying on the side-lines.

"What if he hurts you, Hermione?" Ron had wanted to know. "You know what happens to the muggleborns in his rule. What if you never come out alive?"

"I will, I promise. Just don't forget what I told you. I will need to know about Harry, Ron. _Immediately_. Do you understand?"

He'd hugged her then. And she'd managed to lose a tear or two.

She took a deep, steady breath, and touched the wrought iron gates with a single finger. It did not scorch her skin like she had expected. The coils and curls moved together and moulded themselves into a large, intimidating face.

"State your name and purpose."

"Hermione Granger," and she wondered if he could hear her voice just then, "I'm here to compromise on a deal."

* * *

The elderly elf led her towards Malfoy's private study. She thought it was as good as it was going to get, at least he hadn't summoned her to their torture chambers. She walked meekly behind the elf, trying her best to synchronize with her small, hushed steps. His pale-faced ancestors looked down haughtily upon her as she passed, but did not say a word in her insult. It was only after she'd walked down a hallway filled with children's paintings had she realized that he'd silenced them all. What kind of a man silenced those of his own kin?

After what seemed like walking for several miles, they came to a standstill before a large, ornate door.

"Master awaits you inside." The elf gestured politely towards the study and disappeared with a loud crack.

_Breathe, Hermione. Nice and slow. _She pulled her wand out from her cloak's pocket, before thinking better of it, and putting it back in its place. It was not going to help the situation. First impressions and all.

Pushing the door open, she stepped inside.

His face was the first thing she focused upon, and she froze within a second of entering.

_Oh, Godric…_

He was alone inside the room, staring right at her. Leaning against the front of his desk, his feet crossed at the ankles, his arms supporting his weight, he looked every inch the young, pureblood aristocrat he was—and more, so much more. A simple white shirt covered his torso, and dark grey pants encased his legs. He'd dressed for the occasion? Malfoy wearing muggle clothing was unheard of. She took in every detail, noticing the expensive looking artifacts sitting on the table, the coarse hide of his shoes, the superficial veins running across the white skin of his forearms, the not-entirely-faded imprint of his Dark Mark.

The heat of his eyes had somehow transferred onto to her skin, as they travelled over her form in a similar fashion, lingering at the exposed skin of her neck and collarbones. Staring into them was like staring into the sun, so she looked away.

"What took you so long?"

The double entendre threw her for a moment.

Was he referring to the time she'd taken to mentally prepare while standing outside his door, or did he mean the time it had taken for her to finally come to him?

"I was...preoccupied."

A hint of his old smirk registered on his face, as he inclined his head.

"Indeed."

Her heart was beating in her ears, and it showed no sign of receding. She gathered every ounce of Gryffindor courage she had and cut straight to the chase.

"I know that Voldemort is still alive."

She had to give him credit; if he was surprised by her declaration, he didn't show it. Surely he must have known that she'd eventually come to know about it.

Yet, another though flashed swiftly across her mind. Had he somehow gotten wind of her—

"And so is Potter, it would appear." He seemed only a little annoyed by the fact.

She closed her eyes. "I have to kill him. I have to kill Voldemort."

He regarded her with cold eyes.

"That's quite an undertaking, Granger. And why should I allow that?"

"For Harry. I have to bring him back. I can't let him waste away like that."

His eyes flashed dangerously.

"And for what?" he seethed, "What consequence does Potter's life hold for me? What do I get in return for this _noble _deed?"

She stared at his face. She was here, standing within an arm's reach of him and he was asking her this.

It was plain enough. What more did he want?

"Tell me, Granger. What do _I_ get?" His voice was low, eyes smouldering.

Oh, Gods. He wanted her to say it.

"I—I'd have thought it was obvious, Malfoy." She managed to utter.

Her words, plain as they had been, only served to make him angrier.

"You?" He stalked towards her, and she stepped back in alarm.

"_You? _You—as you stand here in front of me, the sweet, innocent sacrificial maiden! _You—_who conveniently pretends to be the bargaining chip as she selflessly gives away her freedom in the hope that it will bring Potter back from the dead?"

"I—"

"Do not take me for a fool! If I wanted you here like this, Granger, I'd have done it months ago. All I had to do was bring in Wendell and Monika Wilkins."

Her blood turned to ice.

He sneered.

"Oh, yes. They're alive and well, Granger, blissfully ignorant of what their dear mudblooded baby has been up to."

"You—"

He silenced her with a look of pure rage. Clasping a firm hand around her upper arm, he dragged her out of the door.

He led her angrily down the silent halls of the manor. She stumbled a couple of times on the way, running as she struggled to match his pace, lest she fall down and he get tempted to drag her bodily by the hair, but did not say a word of protest. The waves of fury emanating from him scared her, but she followed him nonetheless.

The manor was deserted, not crawling with Guardians like she would have expected. The fact only strengthened the feeling in her gut which was telling her that he'd been fully prepared for her visit, and that he'd somehow known of her meeting with Trelawney. Just like he'd known about her parents.

They entered inside what looked to be the main drawing room. He thrust her body in front of a life-sized rectangular object. It was covered by a green cloth.

He gave her a piercing look, before unveiling it to her eyes.

She gasped.

This was...this was...

For a moment she allowed herself to think that her mind was playing tricks on her, but the longer she stared the image reflecting back at her, the surer she grew. She was standing in front of the fabled Mirror of Erised.

It was every bit as beautiful as she'd heard, every bit as haunting.

How in the world was this possible?

Malfoy allowed her a minute to herself, before coming to stand directly behind her and clasping each of her wrists tightly at her sides.

"What do you see?"

He couldn't see what she was seeing, of course, and Hermione found that she was intensely grateful of the fact.

Malfoy was not one to give up, though. He tightened his hold almost to the point of pain.

"_What do you see?_" His breath stirred her hair, and goose pimples erupted on her skin.

She kept her mouth shut, silently willing the image to alter, to transform into something which made more sense.

"Don't make me invade your mind, Granger. I can see that you've been hard at work, but I've worked so much _harder._"

His voice died down to a whisper upon the last word, and her resolve broke.

"I see—myself."

"And?"

"And I see my parents, looking on—smiling—"

"_And?_"

"And I see you."

He exhaled.

His fingertips danced daintily across the length of her arms, slowly coming to cup her shoulders.

"And what else?"

"We're...we're embracing. We look...happy."

It was all the confirmation that he needed. She turned away from the image and came to face him.

He looked utterly pleased. Bringing her left hand slowly to his mouth, he kissed the back of her fingers. She felt the soft warmth of his mouth shoot across her nerves and settle somewhere on the top of her cheeks.

He offered his left arm to her.

"Shall we?"

* * *

The room they entered next was small and dark. There was a single window high up the wall, but it could do little to elevate the stench that permeated the damp air.

"_Lumos."_

Through the dim light, she could make out the still form of Voldemort's contracted body suspended in what seemed to be a glass tank. It was filled to the brim with an indistinguishable liquid.

"He derives his nutrition from the potion. We have to change it every few days."

"This is madness," she whispered.

"A necessary madness."

She took a deep breath.

"Do I have your permission?" she asked him, just for the final time.

"You have my heart." He said, softly.

She blinked rapidly, before getting a hold of her feelings and pointing her wand—Vinewood—towards the glass.

She had never done this before, and it was apparent by the way her wand arm shook. This was not a moment to show weakness, _dammit_.

Malfoy moved beside her and laid a hand on her arm, lowering it.

"Let me."

Her ears were ringing, her breath was coming short. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she collapsed on her knees. She did not hear him utter the words, all she saw was a flash of green light and a languid blur of movement as the fetid shell of Tom Riddle slowly floated to the top of the tank.

Gentle hands pulled her upwards.

She leaned against his warm, steady weight. Now that the curse was lifted, she was feeling significantly stronger.

Suddenly, a patronus in the form of a Jack Russel terrier exploded into her vision, illuminating the whole room.

"…_he's come back to us. He's…speaking…and he's asking for you. Come soon_…"

She sighed contentedly next to his chest.

"Whatever it takes, I'm _not_ going to let Potter be the Minister."

She managed a shaky laugh.

"Somehow I have a feeling that it's not going to on the top of his priorities."

Her fingers found his left arm, and she lifted it to inspect it in the dull light of the Patronus. His Dark Mark had faded completely. She brought it closer to her lips and kissed the skin.

"How is your soul, Granger?", he asked.

She smiled up at him.

"It's doing well."

* * *

**A/N: Written in a haze of half-sleep. My jaw hurts from yawning. Please review, and no flames! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Harry asked her, as the breeze from the sea gently tugged at the hair on his forehead.

She looked down at her bare feet which were now smeared with sand. No one from the Order, not the Weasley's, not even her parents had held the power to make her feel guilty for her actions, but Harry had always been different. He had the special ability to make you feel like a bug placed underneath a microscope, and yet peculiarly comforted by his charisma. It was evident by how warm her cheeks suddenly felt, but she was still compelled to answer him. Even if he didn't understand.

She sighed. Maybe nobody ever would.

"I know what I'm doing. I told you before, Harry. Things have changed between us."

"And how?" Harry asked, his voice sharp, "Just because you saw his face in the mirror? Merlin, I'd never thought I'd ask you this, but are you _stupid_, Hermione?"

Her cheeks burned hotter, but she clenched her fists defensively.

"It's just been fifteen days since you came to, Harry Potter. And yet you keep forgetting that had it not been for him, you wouldn't be here sitting so high up on your horse, patronizing me."

He ran a hand through his hair, which he'd gotten cut yesterday.

"I'm not patronizing you." He said. "Do you have any idea about what we go through when you disappear off for hours? What _I_ go through? Things might have changed now between you but that bastard won't change! I never knew he had it in him in the first place! Godric, just thinking about what he's done makes my blood boil!"

She understood his implication.

"We haven't talked about that yet. I still need time to muster up the courage to discuss the muggleborn situation with him."

"When you aren't busy shagging him, you mean." Harry said bluntly.

"It's not that! We...we're not _shagging_! Harry, you have to understand. It's not that simple, and no one has the right to think that it is! For everything to go back to normal...it's going to take some time. It's only been two weeks! He's even agreed to let you make your public appearance in a few days."

He blinked, and she could tell that this had surprised him. But he scoffed loudly a moment later.

"As if I need that ferret's permission for that. I can make my own bloody appearance."

She shook her head. _Boys._

They stood there silently for a few minutes, each gazing off into the distance, lost in their own thoughts.

"What about those _men_...those Guardians that he kept? What happens to them?" He asked her.

"He dismissed them."

"What? Just like that?"

"Yes, that is what he said."

"I don't trust him."

"I do." She blurted. She hadn't even realized before now that she did.

She could feel Harry's burning gaze on her face. And she knew what he was going to ask next.

"Do you love him?"

The image of his face flashed across her mind's eye. Hard angles, rigid jaw...the glint in his eyes as he watches her watch him. The feel of his heart beating against her chest. The gentleness of his fingers as he pulls the zip of the green dress upwards, the one he's gifted her moments ago. The look in his eyes when he sees her in it later. The tremor in his fingers as he makes her a cup of tea, probably the first he's ever made in his life.

The sound of his voice.

"I do." She repeats.

* * *

It's a strange sight indeed, to see Draco Malfoy standing rigidly inside their private sanctuary. It was hard for her to imagine how she'd spent months beneath this roof, plotting for ways to attack him and now the man himself was standing here, inside enemy lines.

Draco had specifically told her that he'll only entertain Potter, no one else, and that too only for thirty minutes or so. The rest of the Order was probably just on the other side of the door, listening in to their conversation.

"_Muffliato._" She whispered, pointing towards the door.

Harry was looking quite green as he faced off with him. It could be one of those sudden bouts of exertion that hit him nowadays whenever he pushed himself too hard. But then, it could also be the sight of his childhood nemesis standing within an arm's reach of him.

"Let's make one thing absolutely clear, Malfoy. Hermione tells me that you're not a threat to us any longer, and that you're going to withdraw your forces in a few days. She trusts you, and though I respect her judgment, I hate your guts. So, here's what we're going to do. I'll be appointing some Order members to oversee the muggleborn restoration programme, and you will give us your full cooperation, including and not limited to the funds required for this operation."

She looked at him in astonishment, but Draco gave no response, so Harry continued.

"You're also going to pay for the damages that you've inflicted on their families and their property, and do it till they are adequately re-established."

"Harry! You can't—"

"You know perfectly well, that I have to do this, Hermione. And that's final." He looked towards Malfoy. "I know you're capable to entirely forego the Ministry's trial, and heaven knows you deserve to rot in Azkaban hanging upside-down from the walls for the rest of your life but—"

"—I still have this, Potter." Draco finally cut in, pulling out the Elder Wand from its holster.

"—but you still have this." Harry sighed. "You don't know how disturbing it is to see that thing in your hands."

Draco smirked. "Wand chooses wizard, scarhead." His face smoothened into seriousness. "I agree to all your conditions, but you will have to agree to a few of mine."

Harry began to say something but he cut him off.

"—I will exercise implicit control over the Ministry, and the Wizengamot. I will kill anyone who opposes me, and that includes you."

"I'd like to see you try—" He growled.

"My father will receive a full pardon, and the Lestranges will get the Kiss as soon as possible. I need those demons exorcised as they might get in my way. Speaking of which, you can expect a counter rebellion from the rest of the Guardians as they've not fully understood the extent of the situation yet, but they will eventually. And they will not take it well. You will eliminate them."

"That's your mess, Malfoy!"

"—and now it's your world. And it's my condition. My assets and property will not be touched. And in return I will financially assist you in whatever you require. There still remains the matter of my image in public…"

He glanced towards her briefly, eyes softening a fraction.

Harry snorted. "A hopeless case."

"—but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Do we understand each other?"

Both men looked at each other for a while, willing the other to cave in. For a brief moment Harry frowned slightly, looking a bit pale.

"We do." He said, finally.

* * *

Hermione and Draco Apparated in front of the manor. Neither of them had expected it to be raining, and they were drenched within seconds.

"C'mon, let's get inside!" She said, her voice carried weakly over the heavy downpour.

Draco clasped each of her wrists in his hands, and gently turned her to face him. There was a strange expression on his face as he stared down at her.

"Potter's a lousy Occulumens."

Her mind finally clicked into gear. He'd been using Legilimency on her friend!

"God! You're impossible!" She turned away from him, but he tightened his grip around her wrists and pulled her closer.

The glow from the manor's interior washed over his pale features, and there was a little smirk playing on his lips.

"You will say it to him, but you won't say it to me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." She knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I can stand here for the entire night, Granger. And I will not move until you say the words."

This man had the ability to make her blush even in the rain.

"Don't you think you've made enough demands for today?"

He shook his head.

"Those aren't the words."

She looked down at their feet, feeling extremely shy. He slid one finger under her chin, and she slowly met his eyes.

There was a flash of lightning followed by a distant rumble of thunder. The overwhelming blend of his scent coupled with the smell of the rain clouded her senses, and she uttered the words before she could stop herself.

"I love you."

There was a momentary flash of uncertainty in his eyes, as if he didn't really believe her. She continued to stare at him, willing him to say the words back.

He finally decided to snap out of it, and in the next moment, he was clutching her tightly to his chest. He placed hot, frantic kisses on her face, her neck, her hair and right before going for her lips, he said it.

"I love you, Hermione Granger. And I'm not going to let you go."

* * *

**A/N: This was more of an attempt to tie up the loose ends, as chapter no. five was technically the last chapter. Draco turned considerably fluffy towards the end, but still.. I really hope you enjoyed reading this.**

**It's going to be the last update from this side for a while, as I've got exams coming up.**

**Please review! :)**


End file.
